


What Would You Do?

by kj_feybarn



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e11 The Drawing of the Dark, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7479552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kj_feybarn/pseuds/kj_feybarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tell me you wouldn't do the same. For the woman you love." And if Merlin was honest, he would do all of it and more. Because what was destiny, what was fate, what was magic, if there was no love. And so he said so. And by sending Mordred away. Merlin may have just killed Arthur. But all he could think was. "I loved her. With my everything." And what is destiny without love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Her Name Was Freya

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, this is my first story on AO3-In case anyone has read this story before it is published on fanfiction.net under kjayla-don't worry, that person is also me, so this is not plagiarism! Anyways, this is one of my few finished stories, and since I had an account here I decided to put it in both places.  
> Anyways, this is a bit of a fix-it fic, because this episode killed me and I just wish there were happy endings. (So why did I watch Merlin when I already knew Arthurian Legend? Don't ask me, I really don't know...)

"What would you do?"  
  
Merlin felt his heart crack a little. He knew what he would do; he knew what he had almost done. But he pressed on regardless. "You can't," He whispered.  
  
Mordred stared at him. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same. For the woman you loved."  
  
Merlin felt the agony rip through him, "Don't be foolish."  
  
Mordred stared at him. And Merlin wondered if Mordred could see into his soul. "You see, you cannot."  
  
Merlin watched him turn away. Felt his heart break at the memories pouring into him. The soft hair, the brown eyes. The kind warm soul.  
  
"Her name was Freya." Mordred stopped. But Merlin couldn’t see him any more, his mind was far away. Deep in the catacombs. Sitting by a lake. Anywhere but here. "I loved her."  
  
"Loved?" Mordred asked.  
  
"With all my heart." Merlin paused, struggling momentarily to keep the pain out of his voice. "I would have left everything behind for her."  
  
"Why didn't you?" Mordred's voice held both accusation and curiosity.  
  
"We were going to… that night." He choked back a silent sob. Oh how he missed her. "But she didn't want me to give up everything. She ran while I collected provisions for us."  
  
"She left you." Merlin stayed silent for a moment.  
  
"She didn't make it past the gates. She was a druid, an escaped druid at that. They were looking for her." Merlin stopped.  
"She was executed." Mordred was staring at him.  
  
Merlin let out a hoarse laugh. "She had been cursed. By a sorceress who blamed Freya for her son’s death." He could feel his heart shattering piece by piece. "They had her cornered. And… she changed into a Bastet."  
  
Mordred gave a sharp gasp.  
  
"It wasn't her fault." Merlin felt as though he was begging Mordred to understand. No one else had ever heard this story. No one else had ever been able to understand with him, to help heal him. "She would never hurt a soul."  
  
Mordred stared at him; there was a slow nod. "The knights killed her before you could stop them."  
  
Another hoarse laugh was torn from his throat. "No. Arthur killed her."  
  
Mordred took a step back. "Arthur?"  
  
Merlin couldn't take it anymore. He stumbled backwards until his back was against the wall, and slid down to the ground. He was lost in the memories, lost in the pain. He didn't think he had ever truly been allowed to grieve for Freya. It had been years since her death. Years since he had been allowed to see her in the lake for a short time. Years since he had allowed himself to look at the gaping wound in his soul.  
  
He didn't even comprehend that Mordred was moving towards him. Didn't comprehend that Mordred slid down cautiously to sit next to him.  
  
Merlin stared at Mordred for a moment. "You would do anything for her, because you love her beyond all comprehension. You love her more than destiny, and fate, and magic itself. And you would give all of it up. Everything, because she understood you. She knew you. And it didn't matter to her what mistakes you had made, and it didn't matter to you what mistakes she had made. You loved her. More than anything."  
  
He turned to look at Mordred, he felt like he was begging again. "But it doesn't matter, because deep down you know, it didn't matter what course of action you take. Something was going to go wrong. And either way her death was going to be your fault." He took a deep shuddering breath. He couldn't say any more. He was to close to completely breaking. And he remembered how much he hated Destiny and everything it had taken from him.  
  
Mordred moved closer to him. Merlin felt himself get pulled closer until his head was resting on Mordred's shoulder and the tears that he had been trying so hard to stop trailed down. The two sat silent, no one said anything, and the pain was too thick in his throat and his heart for any words to get past. Blankly he wondered why he what he was doing, remembering this now.  
  
"If you run with her I won't tell." He didn't know where the words came from, or how the words had managed to get past the painful lump in his throat. But he remembered. He remembered loving someone so much that you would give everything for them. Do anything for them. He didn't want Arthur to die, and he was going to do everything he could to stop that.  
  
But if he was Mordred, if he had a chance with Freya again. He would hope that someone, anyone, would give him a chance to be with her. And he remembered, oh he remembered. And as selfish and foolish as it was-when it came to that deep soul wrenching love. Albion, magic, everything. It seemed so empty. Because what was magic, and destiny, and fate, if there was no love. And he had been denied love too often. He had been denied a chance at happiness for too long. He couldn't. Just couldn't deny Mordred.  
  
"You would let us go." The words were soft. Mordred sounded surprised and hesitant. Merlin didn't blame him, couldn't blame him.  
  
"I wish someone would have given me a chance." He hiccupped. He was starting to feel numb. He expected Mordred to move away, to go to the girl in the cell.  
  
"How long?" Merlin looked up at Mordred, a bit of confusion managing to pierce through the fog.  
  
"How long what?"  
  
"How long have you been alone?"  
  
Merlin stayed silent. And when the words came out it was without his conscious effort. "Mum never really understood, she loved me, I know that. But I think there was some small part of her that was frightened by me. She loved me so much, but she never understood. Will too, he wasn't frightened. But, he never really comprehended why I hid myself. He never understood how dangerous Magic could be. Gaius, Gaius tries. I know he does. But I've always been the question without an answer to him. And I know he tries to understand. But how can you understand the pressure of an impossible destiny without first feeling it?"  
  
He fell silent again. Sudden indecision attacking him now as the weight of his destiny fell on him again. The warnings not to trust the man sitting next to him clenched at his heart.  
  
Mordred kept silent for a moment, before gently pressing on "How long, Emrys?"  
  
The words poured out despite his hesitancy. He needed someone to understand, anyone, even if it was only the man who was supposed to destroy his destiny, maybe because it was only right that Mordred was the one who knew. "Lancelot found out. But he left immediately afterward, and despite the fact that he knew, I was still left alone, because he was gone, off to prove himself." He hesitated "I don't blame him; I understand why he left. But still part of me broke when I had found a confidant only to lose him so soon." His eyes closed, the silent tears that had been pouring down his cheeks slowing.  
  
"I wanted to tell Morgana, I truly did. I saw how afraid and lonely she felt. I knew personally how painful it was. But I was afraid. I had never actually told anyone. And she was the King's Ward. I was a servant. So I sent her to the druids, but it all went wrong, and more people died because of me, because I was too afraid to tell a lonely girl that she wasn't alone. And then, she turned to Morgause, and suddenly I couldn't tell her even if I wanted to. Because I was too late to tell the truth, and she was too far gone for me to reach. And it was my fault. I wasn't there for her. And then, then, I poisoned her. It was her life or hundreds of others. And I poisoned her like a common coward. I held her as she started to die. And she'll never understand that it broke my heart just as much as it broke hers." He stopped again, breath coming out in sharp pants, the frustration, the anger, the hopelessness coursed through him all over again.  
  
"I don't understand love. It doesn't make sense. But I loved Freya. I saved her from a bounty hunter, hid her in the catacombs. I filched food from Arthur and a dress from Morgana." He frowned again "This was before Morgana turned, before I failed her." He shook off the thought, only half conscious of the fact that his head was still on Mordred's shoulder and that Mordred was listening to him. He was just speaking now, relaying the pain and loneliness that had been his companion for far too long. "She was beautiful, not just on the outside, you could see the beauty in her broken eyes, and her hesitant smile. I made her smile you know. My magic made her smile. And more than destiny ever had, her smile made my magic feel worth it. Made me feel worth it. I made the flames dance for her, I tried to make her strawberries, I failed though. I ended up making her a rose instead. She really smiled then. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, and for a minute I think I helped heal her, she didn't seem so broken and afraid down there with the flames and the rose. I practiced you know, after her death. I practiced constantly until I could make strawberries. She loved strawberries." He cupped his hands for a moment and felt the magic flow through him. But he didn't uncup his hands, he couldn't. Mordred's eyes were still on him. And slowly his hand moved towards his and uncupped his hands to look at the strawberry nestled there. "I was going to run with her. Because she made me feel more alive than any adventure, any destiny. But she loved me, and she ran, because she didn't want me to lose what I had. Even though I would have given it all away for her."  
  
"She ran, but she didn't run fast enough, soon enough, and they cornered her just before midnight. I made it down to the catacombs to find her gone. I screamed for her then. Because even then I knew, I knew that it was going to go wrong. I found her transformed into a Bastet, surrounded by the knights and Arthur. I stood there and watched as Arthur gave her a fatal wound. They were going to go for her again, but I dropped a gargoyle on them. She ran then, ran back to the catacombs. I went with her, watched as she changed back to her human form and the wound that was fatal as a bastet was even worse as a human, and there was nothing I could do. I kept her alive long enough to put her in Morgana's dress and get her to the Lake of Avalon. She died there, She died in my arms. And she thanked me. She thanked me as she died. Told me that I saved her, and she died. And I didn't save her, I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't. I burned her on the lake."  
  
He couldn't breathe anymore. It was too much, too painful. And it hurt. Oh it hurt. "I saw her one last time, when she gave me the sword Excalibur. And it broke my heart again. She said that since I had saved her she was going to help save me. And I wanted to leave destiny all over again, to join her in the lake. I didn't obviously, I'm not even sure if it was possible, but I so desperately wanted to though."  
  
He sighed, he was too far along to stop talking now. "And then Lancelot was back. And I felt like I didn't have to be alone. He helped me hide my magic, although I had gotten pretty good at hiding it, obviously since I was still alive. But it felt safer, and he wanted to see my magic, and that made it seem like less of a curse and a burden. And then he went and sacrificed himself. Sometimes I still wish that he had let me sacrifice myself. I hated myself for so long after we lost Lancelot. Because he sacrificed himself in part because he believed I had a bigger destiny." He laughed then, a hoarse, painful laugh. "Destiny, I hate that word." He was lost in thought again. Lost in the depths of his mind.  
  
"Emrys." He raised his head to look at Mordred. "You're not done Emrys."  
  
"Why aren't you saving her yet? I'm letting you save her, promising to not interfere. Why aren't you saving her?" He wanted to be angry, but he was pretty sure that it came out more lost and confused.  
  
Mordred just stared at him. "Go on Emrys, finish."  
  
And Merlin let his head fall back to Mordred's shoulder. Because he was listening, and no one had ever really listened before. "Lancelot came back as some sort of wraith. And I think that killed me just as much as having him gone. Because he was there, but he wasn't. And he didn't remember. After he killed himself I took him to the Lake of Avalon too. I forced the part of him controlled by Morgana out, and he was there long enough to thank me. And then he died again. He thanked me! But I couldn't save him, I wasn't there for Gwen when she was banished. I had failed all over again."  
  
"Gwen, oh Gwen. She's one of my dearest friends. Her, and Gwaine, and Arthur. But none of them see. Gwen thinks that I'm a sweet friend, powerless, but strong. She's always thanking me for being there for her. But I don't feel as though I really am, I would do everything for her, everything but tell her the truth. And she's so in love, and she's so happy, that even if I could go to her I don't think I would. Because she's so happy."  
  
His voice broke again. "And Gwaine he trusts me, he told me I was his first friend. And he told me his deepest secret. And I couldn't tell him my own secret. And even now, even now he tells me his secrets and his fears. And I can't tell him mine. And I feel like a traitor because, I want to tell him. I want to, I do. But I can't. The words get stuck in my throat and the fear flares up, and I feel even more alone. Because he would listen, I know he would. But the fear is too much, and I can't, I can't tell. And I think it's going to break me."  
  
He fell silent again, because he felt a little farther away from breaking than he had before, for the first time in nine years, he’s being completely honest. And he can't help but snort at the irony that he's telling Mordred. Mordred the man that will kill Arthur, Mordred the man the he just told to take Kara, the girl who had tried to kill Arthur, and run. And he wonders how he got here.  
  
"And Arthur?" Mordred again, prompting him, trying to help him finish, to end this.  
  
"Not yet.” Now that he’s started he doesn’t want to let this go to waste, “Kilgharrah tries too." He has to stop, has to figure out how to explain Kilgharrah, "He's a dragon," It’s added lamely, because he doesn't think that anyone actually knows Kilgharrah, and defining him as merely a dragon isn’t sufficient. "Kilgharrah was alone for so long, so he understands, or tries to. But he gets so caught up in destiny that he doesn't see what the weight of destiny does. He doesn't really see how much it hurts to have the pressure of Albion on your shoulders." He stops for a second. "Did I say how much I hate that word?"  
  
"It was because of Kilgharrah that I met my father. I had set him free and he was burning Camelot, and we had to find the last Dragon Lord. Arthur and I set out to find him, and before we left, Gaius told me that he, Balinor, was my father. And it hurt, because that meant that Uther had forced me to grow up without a father, and that Uther was the reason I had to hide who I was. Uther was the reason my mother was alone and I was afraid. And it hurt because my father was alive, and I had never even known his name. We found him. He was living in a cave. All alone, and he was so bitter, and so alone, and so hurt. And I imagined that was going to be me in the future, alone, afraid and hunted. But despite the fact that he was bitter and angry, he came with us. And I don't think it was for Camelot, I don't think that it was for the people or for the dragon, and it certainly wasn't for Uther. I think he came back for me. And then we were attacked. And he jumped in front of a sword for me. And he died in my arms too. And it hurt, because I had just found him, and I had wanted to take him back to Ealdor to see my mother. And he was dead, and it was my fault, because I let the dragon free, I convinced him to come, I was too slow to save myself. And he saved me. And he left me with one more power that I didn't want." Merlin stopped "I never told my mother. I never told her that I met Balinor, I never told her that he died in my arms, or that he left me as the last Dragon Lord. And a carved dragon. He left me a carved dragon. Unwanted powers and a carved dragon. That’s all I have left of a father I never knew.”  
  
He stopped again, two more… there were just two more left.  
  
"Arthur is my best friend. I would give my life for him. I have already given up everything else. And it hurts, because he doesn't know me, he doesn't understand me. And it hurts because I will always come second. I will always be pushed away for the newest knight, or some noble. And he says that he trusts me with everything. But every time I warn him, every time I tell him that something has gone wrong, or that something has happened, he pushes me away and tells me to leave. And then he reminds me that I am just a servant. And it hurts. Because I have given him everything, and he can't even trust me. And it hurts, because I can't count the times I've been left behind. And he walks away and just expects me to show up and follow. And he doesn't even see that it's breaking me."  
  
He shifted a little, "When did I become so weak?" He doesn’t wait for Mordred to answer.  
  
"And then there's you." He felt Mordred shift in surprise and then stiffen. But Merlin continued before he could say anything. "You're the only one who could ever understand, but I couldn't turn to you, I couldn't trust you. So many people, so many people telling me to not trust you. Finna, the dragon, the crystal. And it hurt, because you were like me, and you wanted to help, and you wanted my help, and I had to push you away, and I wanted nothing more than to tell you that it was going to be ok, that you didn't have to be alone in this kingdom without magic. But I couldn't because they said not to trust you, and I was so afraid, so afraid of what you could do, what you might do. And so this time I was all alone, and it was more my fault than ever." He stopped again, and took a shuddering breath. "And I can never tell you sorry enough, because I let you go through all this alone, when I know just how painful it is to be alone."  
  
Mordred said nothing. Merlin didn't expect him to. He pulled himself away from Mordred. "Save her. Be happy." Mordred didn't move for a moment. He moved away slowly, moving towards the cells, towards Kara. And Merlin didn't stop him. He made no move to tell Arthur. Because he had been alone for so long. And he couldn't help but hope that Mordred would never have to be alone again. He sat there. He didn't think he was going to move anytime soon. Maybe in the morning. By then Mordred and Kara should be gone, be free. Be happy and together. And he begged Destiny, please, show me that love prevails, let them be happy, let this work…  
  
He thinks he's fallen asleep, there on the floor leaning against the wall. Because time passes faster than it should. And he wondered if it was normal to feel both light and heavy at the same time. The pain from the night before had lessened. Along with the ache of countless secrets and stories. It's still there, still heavy. But he thinks now that each day won't be quite as painful.  
  
He doesn't want to see Kilgharrah again. Doesn't want to face him and tell him that he let Mordred go, practically pushed him to Morgana. Pushed him into a position from which he can kill Arthur.  
  
He doesn't want to face Arthur again. Doesn't want to realize that it will be all his fault if Mordred does kill Arthur. He doesn't want to see the pain in Gwen's face, or feel the loss of the kingdom at losing their king.  
  
But he can't feel like it's wrong. Because what is destiny if there is no love. And he's lived so long without love.  
  
He's still sitting there lost in his thoughts when Mordred sits next to him. He doesn't know how long Mordred's been sitting there before he actually notices that he's there.  
  
Mordred sits there, saying nothing. But Merlin notices that he's trembling, and there are tears pouring down his cheeks. And Merlin doesn't know what to think except to pull Mordred to him until this time Mordred's head is on his shoulder.  
  
"She's going to die in a few hours." Merlin doesn't say anything. He doesn't know if there is anything to say.  
  
Mordred continued to shake in Merlin's arms. "Please don't let me be alone anymore." Merlin pulled him closer. He didn't understand, but someday he would.  
  
"Never again." He whispered, "Never again."  
  
They sat there. Huddled in on each other. Trying to block the pain they were both feeling.  
  
Neither said anything when they felt Kara's life force come to a shattering end. Neither said anything when Percival came across them several hours later.  
  
Percival didn't say anything either. He merely moved on, and Merlin had a stray thought that perhaps Percival was the reason that no one else ventured down that hall for the rest of the day.  
  
It was hours later when Mordred finally spoke. "I think part of me has died."  
  
Merlin didn't say anything. Just pulled Mordred a little closer. Because he understood all to well what Mordred meant.  
  
It was only later that he wondered if that was the death that Kilgharrah had meant. And he wondered distractedly if it would have been kinder to have actually died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> Let us put down our stones.  
> Let us be kind.  
> Let us forgive.  
> Let us talk peacefully with each other.
> 
> And maybe then we'll start to understand.


	2. Her Name Was Kara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words "Her name was Freya" were the catalyst, "Her name was Kara" was one of the painful results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into Mordred's head was hard for me, I'm not sure I did it justice. But I wanted to show why Mordred did what he did, (in this version at least, we all know why he did what he did in the actual show, as heart-breaking as that is...)

"What would you do?" He wants to be angry at Emrys, wants to yell at him, but the way the words come out it feels more like desperation than anger.  
  
"You can't." This time he does feel a spike of anger. Who is Emrys to tell him to just let her die.  
  
"Tell me you wouldn't do the same. For the woman you loved." Why was he so desperate for Emrys to understand, this was Kara. He couldn't just leave her.  
  
He sees some unknown emotion flit across Emrys' face before it settles back into impassivity. "Don't be foolish."  
  
Mordred stared at him, trying to understand what that emotion had been. All he knew was that Emrys was again hiding something. "You see, you cannot." He turned away, angry and disappointed. He just wanted Emrys to understand. Was that too much to ask?  
  
"Her name was Freya." Mordred stopped, shocked and confused. Who was Freya? "I loved her."  
  
"Loved?" The past tense made him tense, past tense normally meant pain.  
  
"With all my heart." It was the most fervent thing he had ever heard pass Emrys' lips. More fervent than his words of Albion and Arthur. He wished it wasn't so fervent, because in that fervency he could sense the pain Emrys was trying to hide. "I would have left everything behind for her." He pushed away his moment of empathy. Emrys had let her go. The pain was his own fault.  
  
But the words came out anyways, because he couldn't stop himself from wanting to understand. "Why didn't you?"  
  
"We were going to… that night." He wanted to make Emrys stop. Part of him didn't want to hear anymore, because it could not end well. "But she didn't want me to give up everything. She ran while I collected provisions for us."  
  
"She left you." He wondered how he would feel if he tried to protect Kara only for her to run from him. He could understand that being painful.  
  
"She didn't make it past the gates." Mordred felt his heart stop. "She was a druid, an escaped druid at that. They were looking for her." His mind switched briefly to his own time as an escaped druid in Camelot.  
  
"She was executed." The words were forced from his lips. There weren't any other options. Death was what Camelot brought to people like them.  
  
"She had been cursed. By a sorceress who blamed Freya for her son’s death. They had her cornered. And… she changed into a Bastet." He heard a sharp gasp and blankly realized that it came from him. And he suddenly hurt for Emrys. Because the rest of the world would remember the Bastet, and Emrys would always remember the girl.  
  
"It wasn't her fault." He heard the silent plea, the silent beg for him to understand. To realize that this girl wasn't some monster. "She would never hurt a soul." And he believed Emrys. But he almost wished he didn't.  
  
"The knights killed her before you could stop them."  
  
"No." He felt a brief moment of hope. "Arthur killed her."  
  
He jerked backward. That was so much worse. "Arthur?" He hoped the shock didn't come out in his voice. Arthur, best friend of Emrys, had killed the woman Emrys loved. He wondered if there was a more painful way for this Freya to have died.  
  
He watched as Emrys stumbled backwards. He watched as he slid to the ground. And it hit him that he was the first to hear this story. This was possibly the first time Emrys had ever let anyone see this pain. And that thought forced him to move forward, towards the broken man on the ground. He slid down until he was next to Emrys.  
  
There were a few moments of silence before Emrys was looking at him. Trying to convey something Mordred didn't yet understand. "You would do anything for her, because you love her beyond all comprehension. You love her more than destiny, and fate, and magic itself. And you would give all of it up. Everything, because she understood you. She knew you. And it didn't matter to her what mistakes you had made, and it didn't matter to you what mistakes she had made. You loved her. More than anything." He wasn't sure if Emrys was talking about Freya or Kara. He didn't think Emrys knew which one he was talking about.  
  
"But it doesn't matter, because deep down you know, it didn't matter what course of action you took. Something was going to go wrong. And either way her death was going to be your fault." He pulled Emrys to him, shifted so Emrys' head was resting on his shoulder. Trying to comfort Emrys the only way he knew how. He wanted to tell Emrys he was wrong. Because it felt wrong that love could ever be doomed to tragedy. But the next words stopped him.  
  
"If you run with her I won't tell." He wondered if his heart stopped beating.  
  
"You would let us go." He was shocked. Emrys would let them go. The same Emrys who had treated him with such distrust. The same Emrys who only minutes ago was trying to convince him not to go. Not to save her. To let her die. And now he was giving him permission. Letting him take her and run. And he didn't understand.  
  
"I wish someone would have given me a chance." And then he did understand. Before, Emrys was intent on protecting Arthur. He didn't quite understand how Kara escaping had endangered Arthur, but he understood that that was the intent behind Emrys' actions. And now, now Emrys was remembering a girl that others would only ever remember as a Bastet, a monster. And there was a part of Emrys deep down, that hoped that Kara didn't really want to kill Arthur. That hoped that it was merely the world seeing the Bastet rather than the girl.  
  
And he was both exultant and shocked. And there was a part of him that could not move, no matter how he wanted to run to Kara. Because this man next to him was broken. He remembered the realization that he was likely the first to truly hear about Freya, and his love, and her death. And it hurt because he knew what that meant. There had been no one Emrys thought he could tell. He would go to Kara. But first he needed to know.  
  
"How long?" Emrys moved so he was looking at Mordred again, he could see some faint confusion in his eyes. And Mordred realized that Emrys didn't understand. He wasn't sure that he understood either.  
  
"How long what?" Mordred wasn't sure what he had meant to ask with that question either. But the words slipped out his lips.  
  
"How long have you been alone?" An unspoken question remained in his mind. Why am I the first person you could tell? Why weren't there other people there for you? Why are you so alone?  
  
And he thought that Emrys must have heard the unspoken questions, or maybe Emrys just wanted to tell someone, anyone.  
  
"Mum never really understood, she loved me, I know that. But I think there was some small part of her that was frightened by me. She loved me so much, but she never understood." He wondered if that was the crux of the matter, that no matter where Emrys went, people would fail to understand.  
  
"Will too, he wasn't frightened. But, he never really comprehended why I hid myself. He never understood how dangerous Magic could be." It hit him then that Emrys was afraid of himself, afraid of the power that he held. And Mordred understood. There hadn't been anyone to explain it to Emrys. Emrys had grown up different from everyone around him. And in this world different often meant lonely and scared. He didn't know where the thought came from, but a question slipped though his brain 'Do you think I'm a monster?' and he knew it was the question Emrys had asked himself as he began to realize just how different he was.  
  
"Gaius, Gaius tries. I know he does. But I've always been the question without an answer to him. And I know he tries to understand. But how can you understand the pressure of an impossible destiny without first feeling it?" Emrys-Merlin-Emrys-Merlin. To him they had always been the same thing, but now he wondered if Merlin/Emrys had always seen one as an impossibility, as something that could never really be.  
  
He realized that Emrys had grown quiet. Hesitant. But he needed to continue. For both of them. Because Emrys needed to say it, and there was a part of Mordred that needed to hear it. That needed to understand.  
  
"How long, Emrys?"  
  
"Lancelot found out. But he left immediately afterward, and despite the fact that he knew, I was still left alone, because he was gone, off to prove himself. I don't blame him; I understand why he left. But still part of me broke when I had found a confidant only to lose him so soon." Of course Emrys didn't blame him. Emrys rarely blamed anyone when it came to his own desires and feelings. No Emrys laid enough blame on his own shoulders that he didn't quite have enough to lay on anyone else's.  
  
"I wanted to tell Morgana, I truly did. I saw how afraid and lonely she felt. I knew personally how painful it was. But I was afraid. I had never actually told anyone. And she was the King's Ward. I was a servant. So I sent her to the druids, but it all went wrong, and more people died because of me, because I was too afraid to tell a lonely girl that she wasn't alone. And then, she turned to Morgause, and suddenly I couldn't tell her even if I wanted to. Because I was too late to tell the truth, and she was too far gone for me to reach. And it was my fault. I wasn't there for her. And then, I poisoned her. It was her life or hundreds of others. And I poisoned her like a common coward. I held her as she started to die. And she'll never understand that it broke my heart just as much as it broke hers." There was anger there hidden in his words, but even deeper Mordred could here the hopelessness. But the words were also rushed, as though Emrys was now afraid that Mordred would stop him. But Mordred was listening, and he was starting to understand. Morgana felt that Emrys had betrayed her. Emrys thought he knew that he had betrayed her. He wondered if Emrys had every wondered what would have happened had he told Morgana, what would have happened had he not poisoned her? What would have happened if Morgana hadn't felt alone. And Mordred thought that the guilt Emrys felt was more than he deserved. Because Emrys had been just as alone as Morgana. Just as frightened. But Emrys had tried, Morgana may not have seen it, but Mordred did, Emrys had tried.  
  
Emrys took another breath. "I don't understand love. It doesn't make sense. But I loved Freya." He wanted to say that no one understood love. "I saved her from a bounty hunter, hid her in the catacombs. I filched food from Arthur and a dress from Morgana. This was before Morgana turned, before I failed her." Again, all Emrys saw was how he failed, how he messed up. "She was beautiful, not just on the outside, you could see the beauty in her broken eyes, and her hesitant smile. I made her smile you know. My magic made her smile. And more than destiny ever had, her smile made my magic feel worth it. Made me feel worth it." He hated that Emrys felt his only use was in his supposed destiny. "I made the flames dance for her, I tried to make her strawberries, I failed though. I ended up making her a rose instead. She really smiled then. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, and for a minute I think I helped heal her, she didn't seem so broken and afraid down there with the flames and the rose." He thought he heard the unsaid words; that Emrys hadn't felt so broken either. "I practiced you know, after her death. I practiced constantly until I could make strawberries. She loved strawberries." He watched silently as Emrys moved again, cupping his hands together. He could almost feel the flow of power, the power that seemed so natural to Emrys.  
  
Emrys was staring at his hands now. As if afraid of opening them to find that he had failed this time, failed to make strawberries. Failed Freya. He moved his own hand tentatively. Slowly taking one of Emrys' hands and moving it to show a strawberry cupped in Emrys' hand. And Mordred felt unaccountably relieved. And for reasons he couldn’t understand he was relieved.  
  
"I was going to run with her. Because she made me feel more alive than any adventure, any destiny. But she loved me, and she ran, because she didn't want me to lose what I had. Even though I would have given it all away for her." He thought back to Kara, he would do the same, he would give away everything he had gained for her. And he wished the thought hadn't occurred to him, because he didn't want to compare Freya and Kara. He didn't want to compare himself to Emrys. Because Freya was dead, and Emrys was broken.  
  
"She ran, but she didn't run fast enough, soon enough, and they cornered her just before midnight. I made it down to the catacombs to find her gone. I screamed for her then." Mordred thought he understood Emrys better than Emrys understood himself. Because Emrys had never truly stopped screaming for her. Because to Emrys she had been the only one to understand. In the darkest nights and the bleakest times Emrys continued to scream for her.  
  
"Because even then I knew, I knew that it was going to go wrong. I found her transformed into a Bastet, surrounded by the knights and Arthur. I stood there and watched as Arthur gave her a fatal wound. They were going to go for her again, but I dropped a gargoyle on them. She ran then, ran back to the catacombs. I went with her, watched as she changed back to her human form and the wound that was fatal as a bastet was even worse as a human, and there was nothing I could do. I kept her alive long enough to put her in Morgana's dress and get her to the Lake of Avalon. She died there. She died in my arms. And she thanked me. She thanked me as she died. Told me that I saved her, and she died. And I didn't save her, I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't. I burned her on the lake." There was more that Merlin left unsaid. And Mordred was grateful. He didn't need to hear the words to understand the pain Emrys felt at being left alone on the shore of the lake. A distant thought echoed in his mind, Freya thought Emrys saved her, Emrys thought he had not. What did it even mean to be saved?  
  
"I saw her one last time, when she gave me the sword Excalibur. And it broke my heart again. She said that since I had saved her she was going to help save me. And I wanted to leave destiny all over again, to join her in the lake. I didn't obviously, I'm not even sure if it was possible, but I so desperately wanted to though." Desperate. Oh so desperate. He remembered his own desperation not too long ago. His desperation to save Kara. For Emrys to understand why he had to. And he thought that they were similar even as they were different. They were both just desperate for the one who understood them.  
  
"And then Lancelot was back. And I felt like I didn't have to be alone. He helped me hide my magic, although I had gotten pretty good at hiding it, obviously since I was still alive." He was grateful for the sad attempt at humor. "But it felt safer, and he wanted to see my magic, and that made it seem like less of a curse and a burden. And then he went and sacrificed himself. Sometimes I still wish that he had let me sacrifice myself. I hated myself for so long after we lost Lancelot. Because he sacrificed himself in part because he believed I had a bigger destiny." Sacrifice, Destiny. He wondered if Emrys had already sacrificed himself. "Destiny, I hate that word." He didn't blame him. It was a cruel word, it cared for no one.  
Emrys was silent again. "Emrys." Emrys moved to look up at him, he wished he could convey what he was thinking- that he needed Emrys to finish. Emrys needed for Emrys to finish. "You're not done Emrys."  
  
The words sounded broken as they broke free from Emrys. "Why aren't you saving her yet? I'm letting you save her, promising to not interfere. Why aren't you saving her?" Emrys didn't understand. But Mordred didn't think that he understood either. So he just said what he had to.  
  
"Go on Emrys, finish."  
  
Emrys' head dropped back down to his shoulder "Lancelot came back as some sort of wraith. And I think that killed me just as much as having him gone. Because he was there, but he wasn't. And he didn't remember. After he killed himself I took him to the Lake of Avalon too. I forced the part of him controlled by Morgana out, and he was there long enough to thank me. And then he died again. He thanked me! But I couldn't save him, I wasn't there for Gwen when she was banished. I had failed all over again." Mordred wondered if Emrys realized how disjointed the words sounded. Realized that that small fact was a testament to how broken he was. How broken they both were.  
  
"Gwen, oh Gwen. She's one of my dearest friends. Her, and Gwaine, and Arthur. But none of them see. Gwen thinks that I'm a sweet friend, powerless, but strong. She's always thanking me for being there for her. But I don't feel as though I really am, I would do everything for her, everything but tell her the truth. And she's so in love, and she's so happy, that even if I could go to her I don't think I would. Because she's so happy." And Emrys only ever saw himself as a burden.  
  
"And Gwaine he trusts me, he told me I was his first friend. And he told me his deepest secret. And I couldn't tell him my own secret. And even now, even now he tells me his secrets and his fears. And I can't tell him mine. And I feel like a traitor because, I want to tell him. I want to, I do. But I can't. The words get stuck in my throat and the fear flares up, and I feel even more alone. Because he would listen, I know he would. But the fear is too much, and I can't, I can't tell. And I think it's going to break me." It was to late for that, he thinks that Emrys might already be broken, and it's only strength of will that's keeping him together now.  
  
It was silent again, so he gently prompted him again. "And Arthur?"  
  
"Not yet. Kilgharrah tries too." He didn't know who Kilgharrah was. Had never heard him mentioned before. "He's a dragon," Mordred wished that he could at least be surprised that Emrys had a friend that was a dragon. "Kilgharrah was alone for so long, so he understands, or tries to. But he gets so caught up in destiny that he doesn't see what the weight of destiny does. He doesn't really see how much it hurts to have the pressure of Albion on your shoulders." It kept coming back to that, didn't it. It all seemed to come back to destiny. He almost wanted to curse whoever had first told Emrys about destiny. "Did I say how much I hate that word?" He was starting to hate that word too.  
  
"It was because of Kilgharrah that I met my father. I had set him free and he was burning Camelot, and we had to find the last Dragon Lord. Arthur and I set out to find him, and before we left, Gaius told me that he, Balinor, was my father. And it hurt, because that meant that Uther had forced me to grow up without a father, and that Uther was the reason I had to hide who I was. Uther was the reason my mother was alone and I was afraid. And it hurt because my father was alive, and I had never even known his name." Mordred remembered his own father. He wondered who had it worse, Emrys who had never known his father, or him, who had to wait in silence and pain as his father was condemned to death long before his time. "We found him. He was living in a cave. All alone, and he was so bitter, and so alone, and so hurt. And I imagined that was going to be me in the future, alone, afraid and hunted." Mordred hoped not, he genuinely hoped that somehow there was happiness in Emrys' future. "But despite the fact that he was bitter and angry, he came with us. And I don't think it was for Camelot, I don't think that it was for the people or for the dragon, and it certainly wasn't for Uther. I think he came back for me." Mordred hated the fact that Emrys seemed so shocked that someone would do something for him. Except he understood the shock, he had felt it when Morgana and Emrys had helped him escape. He had felt it when he had realized that Kara loved him back. He had felt it when Arthur knighted him. He understood it, and he hated it. " And then we were attacked. And he jumped in front of a sword for me. And he died in my arms too." He really wished that people would stop dying in Emrys' arms. It seemed crueler that way. "And it hurt, because I had just found him, and I had wanted to take him back to Ealdor to see my mother. And he was dead, and it was my fault, because I let the dragon free, I convinced him to come, I was too slow to save myself. And he saved me. And he left me with one more power that I didn't want." He wondered if that was why Emrys had such power, because he was one of the few people who didn't seem capable of letting it corrupt him. Break him, yes. Corrupt him, no. "I never told my mother. I never told her that I met Balinor, I never told her that he died in my arms, or that he left me as the last Dragon Lord. And a carved dragon. He left me a carved dragon. Unwanted powers and a carved dragon. That’s all I have left of a father I never knew." He felt Emrys take a deep breath. And he knew that he was coming to the end.  
  
"Arthur is my best friend. I would give my life for him. I have already given up everything else. And it hurts, because he doesn't know me, he doesn't understand me. And it hurts because I will always come second. I will always be pushed away for the newest knight, or some noble." He had seen that, he had seen Emrys get pushed farther away as room was made for him. And he felt guilty and a little angry that Arthur didn't even realize what he was doing. "And he says that he trusts me with everything. But every time I warn him, every time I tell him that something has gone wrong, or that something has happened, he pushes me away and tells me to leave. And then he reminds me that I am just a servant." Just a servant. Just a boy. Just a druid. Just a sorcerer. Mordred hated those words. "And it hurts. Because I have given him everything, and he can't even trust me. And it hurts, because I can't count the times I've been left behind. And he walks away and just expects me to show up and follow. And he doesn't even see that it's breaking me." He hated that he could see that, that he had seen evidence of it before, and that he a stranger had seen, and Arthur the supposed best friend hadn't.  
  
"When did I become so weak?" Emrys wasn't weak. He was far from it.  
  
"And then there's you." Mordred stiffened. Confused and hurt, and a little angry. He had tried to befriend Emrys, tried to convince Emrys to trust him. "You're the only one who could ever understand, but I couldn't turn to you, I couldn't trust you. So many people, so many people telling me to not trust you. Finna, the dragon, the crystal." He didn't pretend that that didn't hurt. He had never done anything to deserve that prejudice. "And it hurt, because you were like me, and you wanted to help, and you wanted my help, and I had to push you away, and I wanted nothing more than to tell you that it was going to be ok, that you didn't have to be alone in this kingdom without magic. But I couldn't because they said not to trust you, and I was so afraid, so afraid of what you could do, what you might do. And so this time I was all alone, and it was more my fault than ever." Maybe it was Emrys' fault, his fault for being afraid. But then very few people had ever given him a reason not to be afraid. "And I can never tell you sorry enough, because I let you go through all this alone, when I know just how painful it is to be alone." Except he had, that there was enough. The fact that Emrys had his head on his shoulder and was telling him of his deepest pains. That was sorry enough.  
  
It was silent before Emrys spoke again, a strange pain laced through his words. "Save her. Be happy." And Mordred thought he understood what Emrys was saying. Even if Emrys himself didn't understand. Because Emrys had lost his chance with the woman he loved. He wanted Mordred to be happy with Kara as much for himself as for Mordred. Because Emrys so desperately wanted to believe that Happy endings were real, were possible.  
  
And so Mordred moved, he moved away from Emrys down to the cells were Kara was. And he wondered. He wondered how he had gotten here. Gotten to this point in his life. He remembered his own heart breaks. His mother's death, his father's death. The endless betrayals and the sting of never having a home. His search for Morgana, finding her only to discover that she wasn't really Morgana anymore. Not the kind, loving woman who had helped a literal stranger, but instead a woman so deep in anger and hate that she had lost sight of everything she used to be. The fact that he had stabbed her and left her for dead when she had put her life on the line to save his. The constant rejection of the only person who could really understand the loneliness that he felt. The pain when he realized that two of the people you cared for, even though only one cared for you back, had decided to let you die rather than change. Perhaps what was most painful was that he suddenly understood why he was so consistently rejected. That he understood the pain that Emrys felt. And that he had found some of that pain in his own soul.  
  
And he kept walking. He ignored the guards at the top of the dungeon. And they let him pass. Dimly he wondered whether that was wise of them. He was dangerous and he had already let it be known that he cared a great deal for the prisoner.  
  
His feet moved until he was in front of Kara's cell, facing her as she stood up and came towards him. "Kara" her name slipped off his lips. He felt a tear slide down his cheek. "Kara" he repeated.  
  
"Mordred" They stood there, face to face with only the bars between them. And he found he needed to understand. He needed to understand why Kara had tried to kill Arthur just as much as he had needed to understand why Emrys was so broken.  
  
"Why?" His voice cracked on the word. Why had Kara tried to kill Arthur, why had the sweetest most beautiful girl he had ever known tried to kill Arthur. It didn't make sense.  
  
"Because, he has killed so many. He has hurt so many. He is blind and cruel, and he deserves death." Her voice was soft, but it was also cold. Empty of the warmth he normally associated her with.  
  
"But it would change nothing. It would not bring us freedom." He didn't understand. Except, part of him did. His death would have been a revenge. A way to relieve the pain that Kara felt. That so many felt. And he couldn't help but compare that to the way Emrys had reacted after Arthur had killed Freya. And he wondered where he fell on the spectrum. He served Arthur now, but that was because he refused to believe that Arthur was his father. But if Arthur killed Kara. The way that Arthur had killed Freya. He didn't think he could do what Emrys did. But he wondered if he would do what Kara did. Would he lash out in revenge. Attempt to kill Arthur and Emrys and everyone with them?  
  
"But it would change everything. With Arthur gone it would be so easy for Morgana to take control the way she is trying to. We would be free. We would have the justice that has been denied us for so long." Mordred hated himself for noticing the coldness in her voice. He hated himself for questioning her. He hated himself for thinking about Bastets and broken girls.  
  
"But there are so many innocents." So many innocents that had already died, so many that would keep dying as long as revenge was still on the table.  
  
"And he has killed innocents." The anger was more than palpable. It was crushing and heavy. And Mordred felt like he was being stabbed. And he didn't understand.  
  
"But what if Morgana is wrong?" He knew that Morgana was wrong, she was ruled by anger and hatred. There was no room for mercy and love in her new life.  
  
"She is not. She is willing to do whatever it takes to free our kind. Is that not what we want Mordred? Don't you see what she is trying to do for us?" And he did see what she was trying to do. But he didn't really think that Morgana was doing it for all of them. She was doing it for herself now.  
  
"Kara" her name was a whisper now. And his own words were coming back at him 'What would you do, for the woman you love?' What would he do for Kara? Would he let her return to Morgana? Free her and help her to take down a kingdom in the name of revenge. Help her destroy the lives of innocents and hurt the people he had come to care for? And it hurt, because before he hadn't even thought those questions, he had only known that he loved her; that he wanted to save her. 'Her name was Freya.' He didn't know why that sentence rang in his mind. Perhaps it was the deep pain that that sentence signified. Perhaps it was because he could almost see a girl, beautiful but broken. Perhaps it was because he could see the Bastet within the girl. And he could see the Bastet within Kara. And that hurt him more than he could have ever imagined.  
  
"Mordred?" His name was a question on her lips. As though she could sense the turmoil that was threatening to overtake him.  
  
"They're going to kill you in the morning." He stared at her. "Tell them you're sorry, tell them that you'll change. That you won't seek to hurt Camelot anymore."  
  
She laughed softly. "Mordred, Camelot deserves to be destroyed. Why can't you see that?"  
  
And Mordred hated himself. Because he had thought he would do anything for the woman he loved. But suddenly… "Kara" he was desperate now. But he could say nothing more. Just begging her with that one word.  
  
"He has killed our kind. He has hunted us. He deserves death."  
  
'And she'll never understand that it broke my heart just as much as it broke hers.' The words echoed in his mind. The same words that Emrys had said.  
  
And he understood how much it hurt to let someone you love die. Because he would rather Kara die than fully become the Bastet within her. And he wondered if he was going to end up just as broken as Emrys.  
  
"I love you Kara."  
  
And then he left. Because he loved her. But he couldn't save her.  
  
He stood there, far enough away from the dungeons that the guards could no longer see him. And felt himself start to break. And part of him wished he had never tried to understand. Wished he had never heard of a girl named Freya. Never seen how broken one could become when forced to be alone. He didn't know how long he stood there. Holding back the sobs that were sweeping through him.  
  
And before he knew it he was moving. Moving to the last place he had seen Emrys. Knowing unconsciously that he would still be there.  
  
And he is, and Mordred doesn't know what he wants Emrys to do. He doesn't know if there is anything that Emrys can do. But he sits by him. Tears pouring down his cheek. And somehow he isn't surprised when this time his head ends up on Emrys' shoulder. Because they were two broken men. Two broken men with two broken pasts.  
  
"She's going to die in a few hours." The words come out choked. He doesn't want to say them, doesn't want to admit that they are true. Doesn't want Emrys to ask why he hasn't saved her. Doesn't want to deal with the pain that he's feeling.  
  
But he thinks he understands why he's where he is now. Why his head is now on Emrys' shoulder. "Please don't let me be alone anymore." And he feels Emrys pull him closer. He feels the tears that run down Emrys' cheeks land on his hair and neck.  
  
"Never again." It's a promise, a desperate promise. And they're both making it. "Never again." And he still feels broken. But it was a promise. He won't have to be alone again, won't have to face the pain by himself. And while he's not better, not even in the slightest. He's not as afraid as he was.  
  
He almost loses it when Kara's life force screams out of existence. Almost loses it five minutes later when he thought about it. Almost loses it every time his heart beats and breath comes out of his body. But there they are, two broken men.  
  
He dimly recognizes that at some point Percival sees them. He doesn't even feel embarrassed or ashamed. Because he loved her, and she died. And he knows what Emrys meant now when he said 'But it doesn't matter, because deep down you know, it didn't matter what course of action you took. Something was going to go wrong. And either way her death was going to be your fault.' Because he thinks that Kara's death was going to happen either way, had he saved her she would have run right back to it, too eager to kill those she felt had wronged her. And he thinks that he would have died with her. He thinks he has died with her.  
  
Which is why he wasn't surprised when the words slipped from his mouth. "I think part of me has died."  
  
Emrys doesn’t say anything, just pulls him a little closer. And Mordred couldn't help but wonder how many of them were a little dead inside.  
  
And he let the tears fall. Because, someday he was going to have to say. 'Her name was Kara. I loved her.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For there is such terrible darkness within me, as if everything was dead...
> 
> You will always find something (or someone) to help you... you are not so much in the dark as you think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final installment to "What Would You Do?" I hope that at least someone found something within it to enjoy!

He was tired, and saddened. It seemed obvious that Mordred was breaking apart since the capture of the druid girl. Which was why he was searching the castle now, looking for Mordred. He didn't know how he would help Mordred, but he thought he could at least offer silent comfort. He understood how the heart could shatter at the death of a loved one. His whole family had been destroyed, and with them, his heart. He couldn't save Mordred's heart. But he could let him know he was not alone.  
He stopped his search of the castle when he heard Lancelot's name. People rarely spoke of Lancelot unless they were lauding his bravery, and even that was done hesitantly. The ordeal with the Queen kept people silent. The whole situation still rankled at him. But not because of Gwen's actions. But Lancelot's. He knew Lancelot. And it still felt wrong that Lancelot would go behind the King's back. That he would ever put Gwen in that situation. He loved Gwen far too much for that. And then Lancelot had killed himself. That was wrong, so very out of character for the Lancelot that Percival knew. Lancelot never backed down from the consequences of his actions. That wasn't the person Lancelot was. Percival knew that. He knew it with all his heart. But he had no explanation for the reasons. Just knew, there had to be an explanation.  
He shuffled quietly to the hallway that he had heard Lancelot's name spoken from. Obeying some inner instinct to stay silent and unobserved. He listened quietly.  
"And I felt like I didn't have to be alone. He helped me hide my magic, although I had gotten pretty good at hiding it, obviously since I was still alive. But it felt safer, and he wanted to see my magic, and that made it seem like less of a curse and a burden." Percival did his best not to gasp aloud. Magic? In Camelot? He was no hater of magic, but he had seen the destruction magic could bring. And that Lancelot had known of magic in Camelot, and said nothing to the king. Supported it even. He twitched forward. There was really only one person that Lancelot would have supported that way. Supported so unconditionally. And even if Percival didn't now recognize the voice, he wasn't surprised when he looked around the corner and saw Merlin sitting there. He was a little surprised to see his head on Mordred's shoulder, It was no great secret that the two men were not close. But Merlin was still talking, and Percival found he couldn't move.  
"And then he went and sacrificed himself. Sometimes I still wish that he had let me sacrifice myself. I hated myself for so long after we lost Lancelot. Because he sacrificed himself in part because he believed I had a bigger destiny." There was a painful laugh before Merlin continued. "Destiny, I hate that word." Percival wasn't surprised that Merlin had been planning on sacrificing himself to the veil, nor was he surprised that Lancelot had decided to get there first. But it did explain the fact that Merlin had taken far longer than the rest of them to heal. Although Percival wondered now if Merlin truly was healed.  
"Emrys." Who was Emrys? "You're not done Emrys." Who was Mordred talking to?  
"Why aren't you saving her yet? I'm letting you save her, promising to not interfere. Why aren't you saving her?" Percival inhaled sharply. Merlin was going to help Mordred rescue the druid girl? Well, perhaps not help, but certainly not hinder.  
"Go on Emrys, finish." What was going on here? Why was Mordred calling Merlin, Emrys? Why wasn't Mordred trying to save the girl? Why was this little heart to heart happening? And why, of the two men, was Merlin the one baring his soul? He almost thought it would be more likely for Mordred. Because Mordred was the one with the life of his love on the line. And… well Merlin never really opened up to anyone. He didn't think even Arthur knew as much about Merlin as Arthur thought he did. Merlin kept everything close. Which was why Percival didn't move except to sit himself down on the floor. It was wrong, and not befitting a knight. But he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the man that seemed to both give everything of himself. But also hid himself away so far that no one could find the real him.  
He waited patiently for Merlin to speak again. "Lancelot came back as some sort of wraith. And I think that killed me just as much as having him gone. Because he was there, but he wasn't. And he didn't remember. After he killed himself I took him to the Lake of Avalon too. I forced the part of him controlled by Morgana out, and he was there long enough to thank me. And then he died again. He thanked me! But I couldn't save him, I wasn't there for Gwen when she was banished. I had failed all over again." Percival felt a myriad of emotions. Anger, that Merlin had known that it wasn't really Lancelot and said nothing, allowed Lancelot's reputation to be destroyed. Sorrow for the man who had lost his best friend even when the rest of the world thought he was there. Confusion, because Merlin had said that was the second person he took to this Lake. And Percival didn't know of anyone else close to Merlin that had died. And that added to his hurt. How many people had Merlin lost in silence? And then gratitude. That someone knew, someone knew that Lancelot really was the honorable person that Percival believed him to be. And so he kept listening. Because he felt that he could only learn more from here.  
"Gwen, oh Gwen. She's one of my dearest friends. Her, and Gwaine, and Arthur. But none of them see. Gwen thinks that I'm a sweet friend, powerless, but strong. She's always thanking me for being there for her. But I don't feel as though I really am, I would do everything for her, everything but tell her the truth. And she's so in love, and she's so happy, that even if I could go to her I don't think I would. Because she's so happy." Percival knew the truth now, that Merlin had magic, that Merlin literally hid a large portion of himself away at all times, afraid to let anyone know lest they turn him away. And it seemed incomprehensible to have to carry that fear all by oneself.  
Percival risked a glance around the corner. Merlin still had his head on Mordred's shoulder, and though he couldn't see it, he wouldn't be surprised if there were tears. Mordred was watching Merlin, a strange, thoughtful, hesitant, sorrowful look etched on his face. Merlin's voice broke as he continued. "And Gwaine he trusts me, he told me I was his first friend. And he told me his deepest secret. And I couldn't tell him my own secret. And even now, even now he tells me his secrets and his fears. And I can't tell him mine. And I feel like a traitor because, I want to tell him. I want to, I do. But I can't. The words get stuck in my throat and the fear flares up, and I feel even more alone. Because he would listen, I know he would. But the fear is too much, and I can't, I can't tell. And I think it's going to break me." The very idea of it puzzled Percival, a broken Merlin seemed so incongruous with what he knew. But… it explained things. Why Merlin seemed to smile a little less, frightened a little more, why Merlin's eyes seemed to carry a heaviness that seemed so out of place. He had been hiding in a city that scorned and hated who he was for the past nine years. And that took a toll on even the strongest person. And had Percival ever doubted Lancelot's decree that Merlin was one of the bravest, strongest people he knew, he would have had his doubts erased. Because a person couldn't do what Merlin did without being strong. And Percival was well acquainted with all the different types of strength.  
"And Arthur?" Mordred was prompting Merlin again. And Percival realized it had been quiet for far to long. Percival almost wanted to move. He almost didn't want to hear what Merlin's best friend had done in part to break him.  
"Not yet. Kilgharrah tries too." Percival felt relieved. It wasn't Arthur, not yet. "He's a dragon," Percival blinked. And then blinked again. A dragon? Merlin was friends with a dragon? Perhaps more surprising than the revelation, was how little it surprised Percival, Merlin was friends with a dragon, somehow it just sort of seemed like the sort of thing that Merlin would end up doing. "Kilgharrah was alone for so long, so he understands, or tries to. But he gets so caught up in destiny that he doesn't see what the weight of destiny does. He doesn't really see how much it hurts to have the pressure of Albion on your shoulders." What was Merlin's destiny that weighed so much? "Did I say how much I hate that word?" If it was as heavy as Merlin was making it sound than Percival didn't blame him for his disgust. Percival himself wasn't a fan of destiny. It seemed a terrible thing to know one's own destiny. He hoped to never know his own.  
"It was because of Kilgharrah that I met my father. I had set him free and he was burning Camelot, and we had to find the last Dragon Lord." Merlin was friends with that dragon? The dragon that Arthur had supposedly slain? People still told the stories of Arthur's bravery in destroying the monster… and he hadn't even really killed it. "Arthur and I set out to find him, and before we left, Gaius told me that he, Balinor, was my father. And it hurt, because that meant that Uther had forced me to grow up without a father, and that Uther was the reason I had to hide who I was. Uther was the reason my mother was alone and I was afraid." Percival had never liked Uther, he liked him even less now. "And it hurt because my father was alive, and I had never even known his name. We found him. He was living in a cave. All alone, and he was so bitter, and so alone, and so hurt. And I imagined that was going to be me in the future, alone, afraid and hunted." It wouldn't be. Percival wouldn't let it happen. Somehow, Percival was going to make sure that Merlin knew he was there for him. The same way Lancelot had been there for him. "But despite the fact that he was bitter and angry, he came with us. And I don't think it was for Camelot, I don't think that it was for the people or for the dragon, and it certainly wasn't for Uther. I think he came back for me. And then we were attacked. And he jumped in front of a sword for me. And he died in my arms too. And it hurt, because I had just found him, and I had wanted to take him back to Ealdor to see my mother. And he was dead, and it was my fault, because I let the dragon free, I convinced him to come, I was too slow to save myself. And he saved me. And he left me with one more power that I didn't want." Percival's heart clenched. Another person had already died in Merlin's arms. And Percival had a sinking feeling that this was not just Lancelot, but the other person that Merlin had taken to the lake. And then his mind blinked. Merlin was a dragon lord? He knew the myths that the powers of the dragon lord transferred from father to son after the father's death. That would be painful, to lose someone after so long apart, only to find another power, another responsibility laid firmly on your shoulders, and your shoulders alone. "I never told my mother. I never told her that I met Balinor, I never told her that he died in my arms, or that he left me as the last Dragon Lord. And a carved dragon. Unwanted powers and a carved dragon. That’s all I have left of a father I never knew." Percival remembered his own father, there whole town had been destroyed, and all Percival had left were his memories, and while it seemed a bitter trade, he would take those memories, because at least he had that much.  
"Arthur is my best friend. I would give my life for him." Percival wanted to snort, that was just like Merlin, Merlin would give his life for Arthur in a heartbeat, and Percival had a small feeling that Merlin would give his life for him, or Gwaine, or Leon just as quickly. "I have already given up everything else. And it hurts, because he doesn't know me, he doesn't understand me. And it hurts because I will always come second. I will always be pushed away for the newest knight, or some noble. And he says that he trusts me with everything. But every time I warn him, every time I tell him that something has gone wrong, or that something has happened, he pushes me away and tells me to leave. And then he reminds me that I am just a servant. And it hurts. Because I have given him everything, and he can't even trust me. And it hurts, because I can't count the times I've been left behind. And he walks away and just expects me to show up and follow. And he doesn't even see that it's breaking me." Percival suddenly hurt, because he remembered some of those times that Merlin had been left behind. Ismere bright in his mind. It was only afterward that he noticed that Merlin hadn't been with the group as they made their way back to Camelot. And no one had noticed, no one had said anything. And while he had eventually noticed, he had been too worried, too concerned about Arthur. And when he had seen Merlin a bit later in Camelot, looking exhausted and tired. Percival hadn't had the bravery to say he was sorry. To say that he would never let it happen again. And he thought it was partially his fault that Merlin seemed so close to breaking, it was his, and Gwaine’s and Leon’s, and everyone else that took for granted that Merlin would be there, because he always was. And then another phrase pierced his mind 'just a servant', Merlin was anything but just a servant. He was as brave as any of the knights, as kind as Gwen, and more loyal than you could ask for. No, Merlin was far more than just a servant.  
"When did I become so weak?" Not weak, no, never weak. Tired, exhausted, close to breaking? Maybe, but never weak. And if Percival could do anything about it, he would do his best to help heal Merlin.  
"And then there's you." He felt a shaft of guilt at the words before he realized that Merlin wasn't talking to him, didn't even know that he was there, and was instead addressing Mordred. "You're the only one who could ever understand, but I couldn't turn to you, I couldn't trust you. So many people, so many people telling me to not trust you. Finna, the dragon, the crystal. And it hurt, because you were like me, and you wanted to help, and you wanted my help, and I had to push you away, and I wanted nothing more than to tell you that it was going to be ok, that you didn't have to be alone in this kingdom without magic.” Percival bowed his head, it wasn’t a surprise to him, it hear it said in such a manner that Mordred too had magic, but he had thought Mordred to be a good man, and had let it rest in the back of his mind where it would draw no attention.   
Merlin was still talking, “But I couldn't because they said not to trust you, and I was so afraid, so afraid of what you could do, what you might do. And so this time I was all alone, and it was more my fault than ever." There was another pause, and Percival wondered if this had more to do with the Destiny that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. Fears of what could be. And Percival was doubly grateful for his lack of foreknowledge. And he felt even more sorry for Mordred, to know that there could have been someone there for you, if it weren't for the fact, that someday in the future you might do something terrible. "And I can never tell you sorry enough, because I let you go through all this alone, when I know just how painful it is to be alone." Neither of them would be alone anymore. He would be there for Merlin and Mordred, even if he had to help Mordred break the girl out. Because suddenly Percival remembered the time after his family had been killed, before he had found Lancelot. He remembered the aching emptiness that threatened to consume him. He felt guilty that he hadn't noticed that two of his friends had been suffering that ache in silence. Because he thought he knew why Merlin was telling Mordred this story. He surmised that there had been a catalyst, probably to do with the druid girl. But Merlin was opening up to Mordred because Merlin saw someone just as broken, just as lonely as himself. And, it always seemed safer to tell someone you were broken if they were just as broken as you. Percival had noted it with Lancelot. They were both a little broken, and they had helped each other. Different types of broken, but broken. And Percival vowed to help these two broken men around the corner.  
There was silence. Utter silence. "Save her. Be happy." Percival felt a jolt, and before he knew what he was doing he was up and moving, taking an alternate path to the dungeons, moving quickly but silently. He moved past the guards swiftly. They didn't stop him, didn't even question him.  
He found a deeply shadowed place to hide, close enough to the girl's cell he'd be able to hear any words spoken, but far enough away that the girl hadn't noticed his approach and that Mordred wouldn't see him. He wanted to be able to hear, to know what they were planning. Because he would help them escape. It crossed his mind briefly that he was committing treason. But then both Merlin and Mordred committed treason whenever they so much as breathed. They had magic, and yet they were still here. And Lancelot had committed treason. He knew that Merlin had magic and hadn't turned him in. More than that, he had aided Merlin, helped and comforted Merlin. And Percival thought that if he were to commit treason, these two men were worth it. And he had always admired Lancelot; it seemed fitting to follow in his footsteps helping these men.  
He waited in silence. A little surprised by how long it was taking Mordred, he knew the man, he didn't move slowly, rather with a quick deliberation that suggested he knew what he was doing at all times. He wondered if Mordred was collecting supplies and provisions.  
Whish was why he was surprised when Mordred appeared, moving with an uncertainty that surprised Percival. And as Percival watched Mordred he thought that there was a terrible battle being waged in the knight's mind.  
Mordred moved slowly to the girl's cell, and the girl moved slowly until they were face to face with only bars between them. No observers other than the man in the shadows. "Kara" Mordred's voice sounded broken. Confused. Shaken. "Kara"  
"Mordred" Percival felt guilty for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He had already listened to one private conversation, and here he was again, listening to yet another. The very way they had said each other's names was intimate. But it was too late now. And so he did what he had done earlier, he just sat there and listened.  
"Why?" Percival was surprised. It was a good question. He just hadn't expected Mordred to ask it. And for a reason Percival didn't know he felt a small thrill of foreboding.  
"Because, he has killed so many. He has hurt so many. He is blind and cruel, and he deserves death." It was said coldly. And Percival found it odd that Mordred had fallen in love with someone so bent on revenge. Mordred had stabbed Morgana; whose very purpose was revenge. It seemed unlike Mordred, who was kind and honest. It was also jarring to hear such cold words spoken of Arthur, he knew there were people that hated him, that despised him for what he and his Father had done. But he had never actually heard the words coming straight from anyone. Other than Morgana of course.  
"But it would change nothing. It would not bring us freedom." He wondered if Arthur had ever thought of that. The freedom that these people felt they lacked. And he admitted it made sense. They had been killed for what they were. He wondered where he would stand. Would he be like Merlin, a silent victim, who nonetheless protected Arthur, or would he be like Kara. Angry and bitter. Wanting to kill and hurt in retaliation to the death and hurt that had followed her. Or would he be like Mordred. Somewhere in the middle, trying to decide where he stood. Because Percival realized that was where Mordred was now. That was the reason he was asked Kara that question. He thought it was something to do with Merlin's story. Because he had a feeling that before the two had spoken, there had been only one choice in Mordred's mind. Save Kara. But now. Now for some reason he was hesitant. He had come to the point where he had to decide where he stood. Which route he would ultimately take.  
Percival hadn't ever really made the decision; after his family had been killed he had been lost in a haze of pain. It was then that he met Lancelot. And Lancelot had given him new purpose. And somehow he had found himself here. Intent on protecting. Because he had failed to protect once. And he had sworn not to fail again.  
"But it would change everything. With Arthur gone it would be so easy for Morgana to take control the way she is trying to. We would be free. We would have the justice that has been denied us for so long." Justice. It didn't seem quite right. But now he was watching Mordred, the way he was holding himself, as though he was teetering on a beam, either way he moved he would fall. Percival hoped that whichever way he leaned that the fall wouldn't kill him.  
"But there are so many innocents." The words sounded like Mordred. The fair, just Mordred that Percival knew, those traits that had been among the reasons that Arthur had been so quick to knight him. He cared so deeply. Maybe too deeply.  
"And he has killed innocents." Percival's mind flitted to the two innocents that were in the process of dying. Mordred and Merlin. Two of the most innocent. Slowly dying. And in a way it was Arthur's fault. But Merlin was still here, a servant to the king. And Mordred, Mordred was still there. Trying to decide. And Percival thought that even now, as he doubted Kara, doubted her because of the revenge she spoke so fiercely of, he would still help Mordred free her. Because Mordred was one of the innocents. More than that, Mordred was still his brother, an innocent brother that was dying inside.  
"But what if Morgana is wrong?" She was wrong. Percival didn't doubt that. His first experience of Camelot was saving it from under Morgana's tyranny. She had been slighted and wronged, Percival didn't doubt that; but she had also been ruthless and cruel. Rather like Uther, the man she had professed to hate.  
"She is not. She is willing to do whatever it takes to free our kind. Is that not what we want Mordred? Don't you see what she is trying to do for us?" But at what cost?  
"Kara" Percival didn't understand the emotions running through that one word. But that didn't stop them from being heart wrenching. He thought that Kara might be killing Mordred just as much as Arthur was.  
"Mordred?" She sounded confused, questioning. And Percival realized she didn't understand the emotions any better than he did.  
"They're going to kill you in the morning. Tell them you're sorry, tell them that you'll change. That you won't seek to hurt Camelot anymore." Percival thought his heart might have stopped.  
There was a soft laugh. "Mordred, Camelot deserves to be destroyed. Why can't you see that?" And why couldn't Kara see that she was destroying Mordred? Because Percival was fairly certain that that was what was happening.  
And even as Percival thought it he knew it was right, "Kara" because as Mordred repeated the girl's name for the fourth time he thought he heard his friend's heart break.  
"He has killed our kind. He has hunted us. He deserves death." She was pushing him away; couldn't she see that?  
"I love you Kara." The words were final. And broken. And Percival didn't understand, but he did. And he wished that he hadn't seen Mordred's face as he turned to leave. Because while his face appeared stoic, his eyes spoke of the deepest of pains.  
He waited until Kara returned to her corner of the cell before he moved out of the shadows. He moved silently again, unsure where his feet were taking him. But he found him retracing his earlier steps. Taking the round about path back to the corner where he had heard of Merlin's heartbreak. And he had just witnessed Mordred's heartbreak. He glanced around the corner again. A little surprised to see Merlin alone. He had almost thought that Mordred would make his way back here. He stood there for a moment. Trying to decide whether or not he should try and find Mordred, or make sure that no one came by Merlin. Because Merlin didn't need anyone to see him now. The choice was made for him when Mordred appeared. There were tears running down his cheeks and he sat silently next to Merlin. For the longest time neither spoke, neither moved. Percival stood there watching, although he doubted either man would notice him even if they looked right at him. Both were too deeply entrenched in their pain.  
Merlin was the first to move. Mirroring the position Percival had first found them in. Pulling Mordred's head to his shoulder and holding him. They sat there together, trembling so much that Percival could see them shake.  
"She's going to die in a few hours." There was more silence. And Percival thought he saw Merlin pull Mordred a little closer.  
"Please don't let me be alone anymore." It's Mordred again, and Percival hated hearing him sound so broken, so afraid.  
"Never again. Never again." And even though Merlin is promising Mordred, Percival thinks that they are promising each other. Two broken men, who only have each other. And so Percival makes the promise to both of them. He will never let them be alone again. Not if he can help it.  
He leaves for a short time. To listen to Kara's trial. His heart broke a little at the coldness in her eyes. The coldness that broke Mordred, the coldness hiding somewhere in Merlin's past.  
When Arthur asks he says that no, he hasn't seen either Merlin or Mordred as of late. And that while Mordred will be hurt, Percival is sure he'll come to understand. He's not completely sure, but he'd like to think so. He hurries off, he doesn't want to see Kara die. Instead he hurries back to the corner. He stays there for a while, silently watching them. Understanding the grief Mordred feels, at least in part. Because he has lost love before. And there is no miraculous cure that heals you.  
He moves silently down the hallway then. Saying nothing, just hoping that they'll understand as he moves away from them without a word that he will tell no one, and that he will let no one else see.  
He circles that spot the rest of the day. Not letting either Merlin or Mordred see him again. But sending off anyone who comes close to seeing them. But still as he moves in silence. He listens. And it hurts a little when hours later Mordred finally speaks. "I think a part of me has died." And Percival understands. Because he has felt himself die as his loved ones left him.  
And he doesn't need to see it to know that Merlin pulled Mordred just a little closer as they continued mourning in silence.  
So Percival continued his watch, letting them mourn in solitude. Protecting these two broken men. His friends, his brothers, who right now couldn't protect themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And out we go looking for those someones who can give us this simple assurance...
> 
> That we will never be left alone nor unaided, even if sometimes we may feel that we are.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for Reading!


End file.
